Don' Cha' Wish Your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me?

Bernice was a big girl. (As Alex always says "Ain't nothing wrong with a big Papago woman".) Okay, Bernice was not a Papago woman, but she was not petite.

She worked with Alex for a number of years and developed a crush on him. I think Alex was somewhat flattered and slightly unsure about how he should behave with her. Alex asked me if I would mind if he helped Bernice move into her new house and I told him "of course not Honey". Help your friend. I tend to not be the jealous type.

When Alex brought Bernice home several weeks after helping her move into her new home, he asked me if I would help her find a dress for the Christmas Party. I said sure. I thought, well, hell's bells! Why not fix her up a little bit? I'm sorry, but for my husband to have a "girlfriend" not nearly as stylish as me is just ridiculous!

I fed Bernice and Alex dinner and then we hit the stores. There are several stores near us that cater to the "fuller figured woman" and at about a size 18, Bernice qualified as fuller figured. As we approached one of the stores, Bernice stopped in her tracks and said, "Let's go to Forever 21". (Now this gal was 35 if she was a day! But okay, why not?)

By this time, Alex had the good grace to begin to look uncomfortable. His girlfriend was giving him "meaningful glances" and trying to share some inside jokes with him. His eyes kept darting between Bernice and me. Bernice found a couple of skimpy "cocktail" dresses in size "Large" and repaired to the dressing rooms. She came out, poured, stuffed, and oozing out of a dress and said to Alex (not me!) "What do you think?"

Alex looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him up. He replied to Bernice, "That's fine. Honey (me honey) what do you think?" I said diplomatically, "Bernice, that color is lovely on you, but I think it's pulling a little bit at the seams."

Bernice shot me a furious look and said, "Well, Alex if you like it, this is the one I'm getting." I smiled and nodded at them both.

Bernice went to change back into her regular clothes and Alex looked at the floor. He simply would not look up at me. Bernice paid for her purchases and we drove her home.

Oh Alex.

Greed and Need

In my turbulent youth, I had such greed for things that were out of my reach. I truly lusted for "the good life". I didn't see a diamond watch that I didn't want! I didn't ever pass a store window full of exotic things that I could not afford without feeling an overwhelming sense of "want".

How those shiny baubles beckoned to me! I was in such "reduced circumstances" that I was mastering the art of using two pairs of pantyhose (cutting the leg off of the one with the run in it), in order to dress for my menial job. I was divorced, in my mid-twenties, and had two children, John, age 4, and Sheila, age 1.

To say we lived modestly is a joke. I was a full fledged member of the "working poor' class. I did provide for my kids, but it was so difficult that I doubt I could do it today.

For all of that poverty, I was never depressed about our situation. In fact, strangely, I remember that time as the best of all my life. The kids were such wonders! And we laughed all the time! (I cried too, but that was after they went to bed.) The important thing was that we had each other.

Still, I wanted! Oh my God how I wanted! I wanted lobster and champagne! I wanted expensive shoes and bags! I wanted trips to Paris. I had kool-aid and hot dogs!

The strange thing is that now that I'm a "full grown woman", and I can afford almost anything I want, I want so very little. I'm just as happy with a card for my birthday as I am with a gift. I see ads for pretty things, and I dismiss them with a "uh huh, pretty" and never have a second thought. And the thought of champagne makes me slightly nauseous!

Isn't life strange?

In Praise Of The Full Figured Man

My husband Alex is not the tall skinny guy in this photo. He's the shorter, fuller, man with glasses. My personal preference in men's bodies is that they should be built like a fire hydrant and be well padded.

Height is not a requirement. Tall and skinny men involve getting entangled in all those spiky knees and elbows. In other words, Jude Law need not apply as my bed-warmer and full-body pillow. Now, Russell Crowe (if he's not too tall) might be all right.

Why some women have a fixation with tall thin men, I have no idea. I love men who are well-cushioned. In fact, I even love men who are a little on the "thick" side. I guess I'm about comfort more than speed. I'm not imagining it, but heavier men are better dancers. They also are better lovers. These men also look much younger much longer.

Just putting my arms around a man with some "substance" is so much more fun than holding a skinny guy.

I don't want to feel ribs. Ever.

Crime Scene Clean Up

My husband Alex is a very accomplished man. He is Navajo and maintains many ties to his tribe and his family.

He's retired military and served for 25 years, and has a ton of ribbons, medals, and plaques to honor his accomplishments.

He's a gifted software programmer and a defense contractor. But I have finally learned that if he wants to change fields, I have just the perfect new career and company name for him: "Crime Scene Clean Up And You Don't Need To Move The Bodies"

Last night, I was having a little glass of wine in my office and looking at email. After a few minutes, I decided to go in the kitchen and catch the last few minutes of news. I picked up my wine glass (which contained about 2 ounces of red), and started out of the room. Somehow my high heel shoe got caught in the fringe from the rug in the office.

I realized I was going down (and not in a good way) so I tried to protect the glass. Uh huh. Save that red wine! Unfortunately, the wine flew in the air, glass broke and I flew in the air too, landing on my just diagnosed "Frozen Shoulder".

The fall knocked the wind out of me and I couldn't even scream at first. Then I was able to scream for help and scream I did. I was truly afraid to move since I felt like something important might be broken to shreds.

When Alex finally came to see what the screaming was about (and no, I don't usually scream, but Alex is a calm guy), his first reaction was "Oh My God! What a MESS! What happened?". Uh, what happened? He was of course referring to the broken glass on the floor, the wine splashed on the wall and the rugs. He was not referring to his wife, lying prone on the floor panting in pain. In fact, he said "Honey, let me help you up. We've got to get this cleaned up."

Uh, no Alex. I cannot move. I cannot get up. I may be paralyzed for life. You go ahead and clean up and I'll just lay here. Well, wouldn't you know it? That's exactly what he did! He sort of cleaned around me, all the while saying "Baby, are you okay?". Well, Shit, Honey, of course I'm not okay. Just finish up and then you can call 911. Seriously!

I did manage to let Alex drive me to the hospital ER and spent a lovely 4 hours there, getting xrayed and iced. I finally saw a lovely young Chinese Doctor (with blue braces on his teeth which made me feel a tad funny). He said I had contusions, but no fractures and that was good. The doc also put me in a splint.

I have to admit, the whole evening was one of those "Other than that, How did you like the play, Mrs. Lincoln" deals. Still all's well that ends well. The wine is off the walls and the rugs, and the broken glass is cleaned up. And I know Alex could get a new job at crime scenes with no doubt!

Oh, and that wretched fall may have busted up some of the ice in my Frozen Shoulder. At least I hope!

Really Good News (Or Not)

As some of you might have read, I've been suffering from a shoulder ailment that has been giving me fits for a couple of months now. After it got so bad I was thinking of hiring a professional bra snapper, I went to the internist. He told me it sounded like a "rotator cuff tear" (whatever the Sam-hell that is) and it might have to be repaired surgically.

I had my visit to the orthopedic doc today and had xrays and an exam. Hooray, it's not a rotator cuff tear! It's a frozen shoulder. Where do they come up with these names? I got a cortisone shot in the shoulder, (never a truly good time) and was told I would need at least 6 weeks of physical therapy. Uh, okay. But as soon as I had the shot I felt better. Much better. Hooray! The doctor said "no, that's just the topical anesthetic which will wear off."

Yeah, there's that!

It has worn off and it hurts like a MoFo but should be better tomorrow. We went to my favorite Persian restaurant and my favorite Persian woman wait-person came and sat with me while I had a glass of wine. She's the bomb! Just looking at her made me feel better!

I looked up "Frozen Shoulder" on the internet. It's fairly nasty stuff so I didn't read much of it. I'm just glad the amputation that I had envisioned will not occur this time. I mainly stay away from doctors. I'm just sayin...

Where Are We Going Now?

I wish I was more like Harry. He thinks everything is a fun adventure. When I get in the car, I'm all too aware of "where I'm going".

Sometimes I'm going someplace fun. A lot of times I'm going places I need to go, fun or not. And then there are the places I go that definitely are NOT fun. Harry enjoys it all. Going to the Post Office to stand in line? Great! How fun is that!

Going to the DMV? No problem, I'll wait here in the car until you get back, Mom. No problem. I won't let anybody near the car either so leave the windows open. It'll be fun!

There is something to be learned from creatures who enjoy the journey and could give a flip about the destination. I want to be like Harry, except for the sniffing butts thing.